


And the Waves Sing

by Theriverwatcher



Series: Moving On [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Parents & Children, Pie, Post Episode: s06e08 Let's Kill Hitler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theriverwatcher/pseuds/Theriverwatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grabbing a nearby dishcloth, River wiped the sticky from her fingers before lifting the curtain and peering out the window.  She could instinctively pick out the Doctor’s silhouette in the distance standing with his back to her, head bent to his hands. In front of him stood—River had to squint a bit—was that Amy and Rory? Yes, she decided, it was. They were together, Amy’s hand tucked into the crook of Rory’s arm. Their body language was clear enough. River didn’t have to hear what they were saying to know she was watching a show down between the Doctor and his Ponds. Her only question was why they were here, arguing in her garden at half past ten, Earth time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Waves Sing

**Author's Note:**

> Like many fans of Doctor Who, I believe that the emotional turmoil of River's story was never explored as deeply as it should have been. There are so many questions of that time that need to be answered. How did Amy and Rory handle having to leave their daughter yet again, how did River feel having been left, How did the Doctor manage it all? This is my attempt to answer some of those questions, while giving Amy and Rory a glimpse of how brilliant their daughter actually is.

 

“And the waves sing because they are moving.  
And the waves sing above a cemetery of waters.”- Philip Larkin

XXXX

 

Amy stood leaning against the edge of the console as the TARDIS hummed and whizzed around her. Chilled, shivering despite the fact that the room was perfectly temperature controlled to each of their preferences. She pulled weakly at the jumper she was wearing, stretching the knitted material even tighter across her shoulders. It didn’t help.

“Luna! Good ole Luna!” The Doctor exclaimed behind her, flipping a lever with such enthusiasm that she felt the console shake beneath her. She closed her eyes momentarily, swallowing against the acid that stung the back of her throat. When she opened them again, she caught Rory’s gaze from where he sat on the jump seat, one leg pulled up before him and propped on the edge of the cushion. He watched her as though he could read her mind, like he knew everything she was thinking, and he probably did. But the way his eyes crinkled in the corners with concern sent red to her cheeks and she turned away. There was no privacy even to mourn her daughter, if that was indeed what she was doing.

Three hours ago they’d left River at the Sisters of the Infinite Schism. They’d left at the Doctor’s insistence; neither Rory nor she had questioned him. She had willingly given up whatever chance she had left of raising her daughter. It was the worst decision she had ever made.

Behind her the Doctor continued his exegesis as he moved around the console, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. “Well, I suppose it’s still just the moon to you, the name doesn’t officially get changed until 3862 when colonization began in earnest. All the better, I say. If you ask me “moon” is just sort of bland. Lots of planets have moons. Take Xylar, for example. Xylar has nine moons. _Nine,_ Pond.” He reached out at tipped her under the chin, eyes wide and excited the longer he talked. She forced him a little smile, jealous really, that he could forget so easily. He was a Time Lord after all, not subject to the tight ball of finality that buried deep in her chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe.  Amy wondered vaguely if he ever regretted the decisions he made, and then remembered how easy it was for him to go back and unmake them. “…Pilar, Tylon…” was he still counting moons? “and my personal favorite, Ceretes, which boasts the oldest chocolate museum in the galaxy. Great museum, that, everyone gets a free sundae at the end of the tour. We should go sometime, but not now. Now” he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together turning for the TARDIS door, “we are seeing Luna.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and for the first time in nearly three hours the room was quiet, actually quiet. Amy and Rory stood rooted to their spots, lost in their own thoughts and somehow it was worse than the Doctor’s incessant rambling. Amy didn’t have to look to know Rory was still watching her, she could feel his eyes on her following her every movement the way he had for the past six months—since Demon’s Run, really.

She watched him stand out of the corner of her eye “I’m fine, you know,” she muttered, straightening to leave.  A gentle arm caught her around the shoulders and pressed her back into the console.

“That’s good, because I’m not.” His voice was laced with exhaustion, with pain and regret and she wondered if that’s how she sounded to him too. Finally she looked up at him, and could see him clearly in the golden glow of the TARDIS lights. She could read his pale face and heavy eyes, rimmed red by exhaustion and unshed tears.

 “Amy, what are you doing?” Rory asked softly, pressing himself against her, and for the first time that day Amy thought she might just have a chance of getting warm. If only he’d come a little closer.

 “Luna,” she said, gesturing weakly toward the door. “That’s what we’re supposed to do, yea? Follow him.” Rory didn’t answer for the longest time, but his hand held her in place, a soft thumb making gentle sweeps back and forth over the edge of her shoulder. Amy felt her eyes sting, heavy with tears she refused to let fall. She would not cry. She did not have the right.

“This is a nightmare,” She choked out, pressing her hands against her temple.

“Amy? Rory?” The Doctor called, poking his head back into the room. She could swear his voice made her head throb. He stepped inside and gestured behind him. “Luna.”

“Amy, what do you want to do?” Rory’s thumb pressed tighter into her shoulder. She took a moment to weigh her options. In all the years she’d known him, the Doctor had always been right. He always knew the answer, always knew what he was doing. Until Demon’s Run. He’d been tricked, they all had, but he of all people should have seen it coming. The Doctor wasn’t right, not all the time and certainly not on this.  

“I want our daughter,” she whispered, clutching at the front of Rory’s shirt.

Rory looked down at her, nodding softly. He covered her hand with his own and gave it a soft squeeze before unfurling her fingers from around his shirt.  To date, he had only challenged the Doctor’s decision a handful of times, but he would do it now. He would do it for them. 

 “We want to go back.” Rory stated, calmly turning and closing the gap between him and the Doctor.

The Doctor’s eyes darkened. “We’re not going back,” he said, moving for the door. 

“If you don’t take us, we’ll find someone who will,” Rory called after him, voice rising slightly if a bit shakily.

The Doctor paused at that and turned, eyes narrowing, flicking from Rory to Amy and back. “Find somebody else? Someone to jump you three millennia into the future to a planet you don’t even know the name of, searching for coordinates you can’t even remember?” He gave a hollow laugh, “I’d like to see you try that.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he lifted his hand to cut Rory off, “we’re not going back.” He turned and vanished into the night air. This time Amy and Rory followed.

They found the Doctor standing with his back to them, running his hands through his hair as if to rub out his frustration, to banish the darkness. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.  It wasn’t quite clear what he was apologizing for. For dragging them away in the first place? For refusing to take them back? For mocking them?

“Make no mistake, Doctor, if I had to, I’d tear apart the Universe to find her.”

“I have no doubt you could” the Doctor sighed, turning back to them. He gave a meek smile. “Rory Williams, the Last Centurion, waited 2,000 years for the woman he loves. I wouldn’t expect any less for his daughter. But we can’t go back. We have too much foreknowledge. We’d risk rewriting her timeline, rewriting her future.”

“But we can handle that, yea?” Amy offered eagerly stepping around Rory, hope rising in her chest, “Spoilers. We’ve done spoiler, Rory and I.”

“Oh Amelia Pond,” the Doctor sighed, reaching out and cupping Amy’s face. She smiled softly at the familiar gesture. He was still her Raggedy Doctor; surely he wouldn’t let her down on this.  “Not like this, not like you’re talking.” He looked at her, willing her to understand, to see the complications and potential paradoxes that they would be risking. But all Amy could see was the time they were wasting. Time with her daughter was slipping through her fingers like water in her palm and once gone, how could River ever be anything but a stranger who popped in for adventures and to flirt with the Doctor.

“This isn’t just some event or clue to keep from her.” The Doctor continued, splitting his attention between both of them. “You would never be able to tell her anything, and even then there is no way to guarantee you wouldn’t influence her.”

“Who said we didn’t influence her the first time?” Rory asked.

The Doctor didn’t answer at first, but turned a sad smile to Amy, thumb running over her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would _not_ cry. “It was River wasn’t it.”

“Amelia…”

“Wasn’t it?” Her eyes opened again and she looked at him hard, daring him to lie to her. But he couldn’t, not on this. He wouldn’t dare on this. He gave a short bob of his head, fringe falling in front of his eyes and Amy jerked away as though she’d been burned.

She swallowed back an angry cry, wrenching herself from the Doctor’s grasp. “It’s always _River._ ” She yelled at him, pushing him away from her. “She tells you everything. Why? Why not us? We’re her _parents._ ” She turned from him, covering her face with her hands as she retreated back to her husband, taking shaky breaths. The Doctor watched them, with hunched shoulders, head hanging low in his own despair as husband and wife consoled one another.

Finally, Amy turned back to him, arm tucked into Rory’s, “she’s sick?” She said with a shaky voice.

“Amy-“ The Doctor started to protest but she cut him off.

“Yes or no. Is she sick?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s hurt and alone.”

He sighed, “Yes.”

“She needs us,” Amy muttered, what more evidence could he need? River needed them. Now. Yet here they were standing on the moon.

“She needs time.”

“To do what exactly?”

“To think about what life without the Silence will be like. To decide what to do next. To figure out who she is and who she wants to be.”

“Then she needs guidance.”

“She’ll do fine on her own.” He murmured, turning from them in his frustration.

Amy scoffed, “You’ve obviously don’t know Mels.”

“And you apparently don’t know River!” He shouted at her, turning so quickly that the ends of his coat flared out about his hips. His cheeks face went red when he encountered Amy’s stare, eyes wide and disbelieving because in all the time they’d travelled together, all the time she knew him he’d never raised his voice at her. Not like that. Beside her, Rory tensed, eyes narrowing at the Doctor.

The Doctor pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. —“Have you not guessed where you are?”

For the first time that night Rory and Amy looked about them. They noticed the dark night sky shining bright with hundreds, no thousands, perhaps even millions of stars. The sun had long sunk beneath the horizon but there, taking up most of the western sky was a giant green and blue orb, mottled with white and shining so brilliantly that it cast everything in a crystal blue. They were standing in a garden. Amy could smell the flowers and pick out the silhouette of the blooming zinnias that lined the walkway. Up a head, she could make out the ghostly skeleton of a cottage. There was a faint light glowing inside, at first glowing brightly then fainter as the curtains swished into front of the window.

Rory sighed, “We’re in somebody’s back garden…on the moon.”

“Yes, yes you are.” The Doctor nodded, “but any idea as to whose?”

Amy rolled her eyes, far too tired for these games. If the Doctor refused to take them back to the Sisters, then she refused to play along with his little adventure. She heaved a sigh and had turned back to the TARDIS when the porch light flicked on, bright enough to blind them all momentarily. Amy raised her arm to shield her eyes from the intruding light. She could barely make out a figure step out onto the back porch, a hand reaching out to the railing as it called out to them:

“Sweetie, What are you doing out here? Come inside before you catch a chill.”

XXXX

River was just putting the finishing touches on her latest lemon meringue pie when she heard the TARDIS materialize in her back garden. She couldn’t help but laugh. It was nearly a guarantee, like death and taxes. No matter where he was or what he was doing, the moment River Song finished a lemon meringue he’d appear. He’d trek from halfway across the universe just to sit at her kitchen table with a slice of pie. At first he claimed that it was just a happy coincidence, and then he declared himself to have some sort of seventeenth sense about it. River suspected that he’d secretly installed a meringue sensory device somewhere on the TARDIS console. She smoothed the meringue one last time before sprinkling the top with sugar and browning the tips with a hand torch.

There, perfect.

She glanced at the clock over her shoulder as she covered the pie and pushed it away from the edge of the counter. It’d been five minutes. She frowned. Usually it took him 10—no longer than 25—seconds to make it form the TARDIS to her door. He’d always glide in with a smile and a kiss and pour himself a glass of milk as if he’d been expected all the while trying to hide his heavy breathing and flushed cheeks. What could possibly be taking so long tonight?

Grabbing a nearby dishcloth, River wiped the sticky from her fingers before lifting the curtain and peering out the window.  She could instinctively pick out the Doctor’s silhouette in the distance, standing with his back to her, head bent to his hands. In front of him stood—River had to squint a bit—was that Amy and Rory? Yes, she decided, it was. They stood together, Amy’s hand tucked into the crook of Rory’s arm. Their body language was clear enough. River didn’t have to hear what they were saying to know she was watching a show down between the Doctor and his Ponds. Her only question was why they were here, arguing in her garden at half past ten, Earth time. She paused for a moment, mind running through all possible scenarios as she absent mindedly rubbed at her hands with the towel. Finally, she shrugged, tossing the rag over the faucet and moving for the door. Only one way to find out, she thought, shrugging a jacket on over her thin robe and flicking the porch light on.

“Sweetie?” She called to them, leaning over the railing. She shivered in the cool night air “What are you doing out here? Come inside before you catch a chill.” She felt a smirk tug at her lips, the way it always did when she greeted him. Her heart beat its own little rhythm as she waited anxiously for his response, his lopsided grin, his cocky swagger, his eyes raking up and down her body as if reminding himself what he’d been missing.  And all the sultry and cunning quips would wait patiently on the tip of her tongue until she could press herself into his side and _show_ him what he had been missing.

Only this time he didn’t grin. He didn’t swagger and he didn’t rake. He turned to her, his lips pursed into a thin line, face flushed in the gold light from her porch.  It was as if she’d made an unexpected entrance, as if they weren’t standing in the middle of her zinnia bed having a row in the middle of the night. But if the Doctor’s lack of enthusiasm irritated her, her parents’ ashen, stunned faces stole her breath.

River felt the texture change beneath her feet, from the hard Barrella wood of her porch to the spongy Luna soil. She wasn’t even aware she was moving until she was halfway to them, eyes shifting from her father to Amy before settling on the Doctor, who _should be talking by now._

“What’s wrong?” she croaked, her unstable voice somehow breaking the spell that paralyzed them all. Amy was moving, pushing past the Doctor and flinging herself at River with enough force that they stumbled backward. Bony arms twined tightly around River’s neck and she could feel Amy’s pointed chin curl over her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.” Amy’s voice came in hot huffs against River’s cheek.

“For what?” River asked, dreading the answer. Her hand smoothed absentmindedly down Amy’s back. Still no one spoke to her. “Will someone in God’s name tell me what’s going on?” _Doctor_. Her eyes narrowed on him and still he did not speak, but smiled softly as he stepped aside, allowing Rory to step around him, Rory who was staring a hole into her as if she were a ghost or sort of apparition he wasn’t sure he believed in. He licked his lips nervously.

“We uh,” He dropped his gaze to where River’s arms curled around Amy’s back and gently smoothed his fingers over the back of her hand. She flipped her hand over and gripped his wrist. She could feel her hearts slow in her chest, count the agonizing the seconds between beats as she waited for him to finish his sentence. “We just came from Berlin… Well—“  his eyes shot to the sky and River could see how they shimmered with unshed tears. “We’ve really just come from the Sisters, but before that—Berlin.”

Something loosened in her chest and she took a deep breath, and before she could control herself out bubbled a cackle. She promptly clasped a hand over her mouth. It was completely the inappropriate response, she knew. And if she hadn’t known, well, the horrified look on Rory’s face would have given it away. But once started, she couldn’t stop and she nearly doubled over with laughter, relief flooding her veins, tingling in her chest. “Berlin?” By this point Amy had pulled away and was staring at her as though she’d gone mad. Perhaps she had. But River could think of loads more devastating scenarios than Berlin. She cupped her mother’s face in her hands. “Is that all?”

“River, we left you alone in an unfamiliar hospital in another galaxy three millennia from now.” Rory asserted, the gravity in his tone helping to sober her a little.

 “Yes, yes you did,” she nodded staring back at them. They looked tired, and more than a little devastated from the events of the day. “Alright, everyone inside.” She declared clapping her hands, turning her attention to the Doctor who’d only now stepped forward to join them. “I have a fresh pie that would be a shame to let go to waste.”

“Is it?” The Doctor asked eagerly, and she could now see the barely restrained excitement in his eyes despite the grim expression his face was carefully coaxed into.

“Of course, my love.” She couldn’t resist the urge to reach and straighten his bowtie. _Was that the blue silk with black velvet dots?_ Her eyes flicked up to his and she grinned “What else would I make but your favorite?” She winked at him, turning to wrap an arm around her mother’s waist. She slid her other hand into her father’s as she lead back to the cottage, the Doctor following behind them. 

 “Ponds, you are in for a treat. Nothing can heal a world of woes quite like River Song’s lemon meringue pie.”

XXXX

It was all a bit much for Amy: the cottage, the kitchen, the lavender scented candle flickering in the center of the table. There was an apron hanging by the door for goodness sakes. Then, of course, there was River, standing in the corner, slicing a pie as the Doctor leaned over her shoulder whispering not so helpful advice into her ear. Based on the looks River kept throwing him, Amy assumed this wasn’t the first time he’d popped in for a midnight snack.

In all the time Amy had known River, she never would have guessed her for the pie and scented candle type. The gun and lots of running type? Sure. The adventure type? Of course. But pie?  Suddenly there was a new gap in River’s life that Amy was missing. If Berlin River was drastically different from Pandorica River, then she was barely recognizable as the woman standing directly in front of her slicing pie. _Pie._

The kitchen door swung open and Rory slipped through. “Find the loo?” Amy whispered stiffly, folding her hands on top of the table in front of her.

“Yea,” He slid onto the bench next to her, his tall head catching the corner of a framed picture that hung on the wall behind him and Amy jerked to catch it. Wait, was that a _Pikasso_? Her eyes widened and she turned forward, pressing her back against the wall so hard that she felt the texture of the paint imprint onto her back. Beside her, Rory assumed the same position. Eyes forward, back straight, hands pressed into his knees. Suddenly he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, angling his head toward her, thought better of it and resumed his position. In front of them the Doctor collected plates and forks and poured milk into glasses.

“What did—“

“Amy you’ve got to see the den.” He interrupted her, huffing under his breath as they watched the odd domestic scene unfold before them. “There’s… there’s art and… pillows…and this fancy… blanket that’s fuzzy and silky and… fringe-y.”

Amy turned to look at him, meeting her husband’s equally disheveled gaze. Across the room, the Doctor must have said something funny because River let out a hearty laugh as she dropped a knife into the sink.

“This is weird,” Amy muttered under her breath.

“Yea it is.” Rory agreed, scrapping his palms across his knees.

The Doctor turned to them and they both sat upright, bright grins plastered across their faces even if their eyes were a little wide. He gave Amy a pointed gaze, not fooled in the least. Clearly, he was amused at once again having the upper hand. “What’s the matter, Pond? You look a bit speechless.” He grinned, setting the milk on the table and taking a seat across from Rory. Amy’s eye narrowed at him and attempted to kick him under the table. She missed and slammed her shin into a cross beam. The table rattled and milk sloshed against the sides of the glasses. Amy whimpered.  
         

 “So,” Rory said, clearing his throat a little too loudly, he laid a firm hand on Amy’s arm, eyeing her before turning his attention to River. “When did you start baking?”

River threw him a patient smile, scooped up the pie and plates and joined them at the table.  “After I was pardoned from Stormcage. Prior to that I never really had the interest. You remember how bad Mels was at all things culinary.”

Rory chuckled, “you nearly burned down my house trying to make tea.”           

“What?” The Doctor asked, momentarily lifting his eyes from where he was following a slice of pie as River lifted it out of the tin and placed in on a plated.

Amy answered, “She melted the kettle on the stove.”

Horrified eyes turned to River who lifted her hands in self-defense. “Observation and Patience were two skills I did not possess,” she laughed “besides, it didn’t really matter. The Kovorian wasn’t going to let me starve in her care, and when I was at Stormcage—hey!” She swatted at the Doctor’s hand as he bypassed the slice she’d just deposited onto a dessert plate and buried a fork into her perfectly whole pie. She glared at him as the fork retreated successfully back into his mouth and he grinned up at her, like the cat who’d just caught the canary. Her mock irritation turned to an affectionate chuckle.  Shrugging, she gave in and settled herself next to him with the pie tin in the center of the table and a fork for each of them. “As I was saying, when I was at Stormcage I had three hot meals a day, dessert, and afternoon tea.”

“Don’t talk like you miss it so.” The Doctor mumbled around a mouthful of pie.

River smiled a tight lipped smile that suggested he probably wasn’t as far off the mark as he made it seemed, and of course he knew that. She leaned over and scratched the tip of her nose across his tweed clad shoulder before reaching her fork out for the pie tin. “Mmm,” she hummed, slipping the morsel into her mouth, eyes dropping shut in the process. “That did turn out well.” She licked the remnants or meringue off her fork.

“Told you. It always does.” He tapped the tip of her nose with the end of his fork before reaching for another bite, pausing for Rory to slip a fork in first.

Rory eyes grew wide as the sweet lemon filling and fluffy meringue spread over his tongue. “Wow,” he swallowed and River smiled brighter than she had all night.

 “When I was first released from Stormcage the Doctor took me on a cooking holiday,” River continued, taking another bite and wrapping a hand around the crook of the Doctor’s arm as it leaned against the table. “I studied with all the greats, Francois Vatel , Alfred Prunier, Julia Child…”

“Oh Julia, lovely girl! Haven’t seen her in a while, keep meaning to pop by and see how she made out after that,” he wiggled his fingers in the air, “Red Scare nastiness.”

Amy’s eyes shifted from the Doctor to River and back. She watched their ease of conversation, their familiarity with one another.  It wasn’t just flirting, what she was seeing, not just fun dialogue and batting eyelashes that promised to lead nowhere at the end of the day. No, this was an affirmation of some unspoken promise shared between the two of them, a promise she and Rory were not privy too. Amy wondered how many times during the past six months the Doctor had run into River, whisking her away from adventures and dates, danced her across the universe while she and Rory spent sleepless nights morning a baby they were never destined to have. And the green-eyed monster breathed down her neck. She was jealous, jealous of all the time the Doctor’s had to learn all River’s little ticks, memorize all their conversations. 

“It’s only,” Amy started, taking a thoughtful bite and rolling the smooth filling around her mouth. “I just never would have thought of you as the domestic type.” 

“Oh Mother, I’ve lived a great many lives and enjoyed doing many things during them.” She hummed, leaving her upturned fork balanced on the edge of the pie tin in order to take a sip of milk.

There it was: more lost time. Amy wondered if they’d ever get to meet all her daughter’s facets, know all her talents. An expectant silence fell over then. Amy and Rory worrying at the edges of the pie, so overwhelmed that they could barely process what all of it meant anymore. River and the Doctor ate quietly, entertaining themselves by warring over the same piece of pie, intercepting each other’s bites and, when successfully won, flaunted their spoils with slow licks and exaggerated sighs.

“Is it long before we see you again?” Amy jumped slightly at the intrusion of Rory’s voice breaking her thoughts.

River’s lips curled into a teasing grin “Well obviously not long since you’re seeing me now.”

Amy nodded at Rory’s direction, suddenly needing the answer too, “he means how long before you see us?” Perhaps the night wasn’t as dark as she thought. Perhaps River would pop up in the TARDIS needing a good cuppa and a chat with her parents. It would be like old times with Mels, yea? Except it would be with River now… and she would be more aware that she was talking to her daughter. She’d have to censor their conversations drastically. Oh Lord, it could be nothing like old times.

River shrugged cryptically and averted her eyes, “Spoilers,” she muttered, stabbing at a lone piece of pie crust that had dislodged from the edge of the tin.

“No,” Rory placed a heavy hand on River’s stilling her fork and commanding her attention, “no spoilers. Not this time. This is important. I want to know how long we left you alone out there.”

River stubbornly shook her head. “You’re thinking about this all wrong.”

“We abandoned you today and I want to know for how long.”

River sighed, “You didn’t abandon me. You… you gave me space.”

Amy sat forward eagerly, elbows pressing into the table “That’s what you thought then, yea? When you woke up and we were gone?”

River’s mouth parted to answer, but she hesitated, eyes darting between her parents. Obviously the answer wasn’t as clear cut as they hoped. She turned to the Doctor who was watching her now, having laid his fork down and stretched his arm along the back of her chair. “No,” she finally said, the word tumbling from her lips like a groan of admitted failure “no, that’s not what I thought. When I realized that you were gone I was… angry.” She turned back to them, carefully eyeing the refreshed look of distress on their face. “Not so much at you two.” She hastened to add. “But I was furious with him.” She turned and smiled at him, hand rubbing lovingly across his knee—a silent thank you. He in returned playfully tugged on a loose curl, watching it straighten before springing back when he let go. _You’re welcome._

“He wouldn’t take us back.” Amy admitted, her voice cracking a bit more than she would have liked.

“I know.”

“We’d only just found you and then we lost you again.”

“But Amy, you hadn’t just found me. You always had me.”

Amy shook her head fiercely, batting back the tears that stung her eyes and pressing her hands painfully into the table. “Not when it mattered.”

“When we were growing up and I was Mels—“

“Doesn’t count.” Rory’s voice, low and strained, pierced the air. He lean his elbows on the table and brought his folded hands to lean against his mouth, and stared at River with a sharp gaze full of guilt and self-doubt.

River raised a defiant brow at him. That time she’d spent with them in Leadworth, it was so precious to her, and she had long suspected her parents had never understood the full magnitude of they had given her. Now they had all but confirmed that suspicion. “It did to me.” She snapped, her voice low and thick, a combination strange enough that made Amy watch her a little closer and Rory sit a little straighter and the Doctor draw a gentle finger across her back. “I _loved_ it, and I loved _you._ I still do.” With that she rose, collecting the forks and dumping them on the near empty pie tin before turning from the table. Amy watched her go, her chest constricting so tightly that she wasn’t sure how much longer she could draw breath. She panicked a little, at the finality of it all, afraid that somehow they’d offended her and she would shut them out. Was it really possible that they could have lived the same events but experienced them so differently? As Amy sat paralyzed watching her daughter’s retreat, Rory followed her.

“But you need us River. You need your family. It’s what’s best for you.”

River grabbed the rag and wiped at her hands. “No, Dad,” she sighed, “It’s what’s best for you and Mum. Not me.” She tossed the rag onto the counter and turned toward them, Amy and the Doctor watching silently from the table as she approached Rory. “And if you thought about it, about me and who I was, where I came from, and what I experienced all the way back to the very beginning, you would know that.”

Suddenly, Rory’s chin dropped to his chest in defeat, the last of his energy draining from his body. “Then how…” his voice cracked as the first tears ran tracks down his face. “How can I be certain that you… that she knows how very much she is loved?”

Arms wrapped around his neck, gentle but capable, as River stepped into him, burying her face into the crook of his neck and breathing that scent, that familiar musk of his cologne that always meant safety. “Have faith in me,” she whispered “I’ll know.”

There were tears in her eyes when she pulled away, and she batted at one as it tickled down her cheek. She sniffed once, composed with such a simple gesture. “Now you two—“she glanced at Amy who still sat in the corner hands pressed to her mouth “you look exhausted. Why don’t I help you make up the guest room and we can continue this in the morning. Hm?”

XXX

River returned thirty minutes later, plodding down the stairs one at a time, her footsteps heavy against the bare wood.  From the den she could hear the soft clanks and tings of dishes and the hiss of running water and she paused on the stairs. “Doctor?” She called, spreading her arms along the railing and leaning over the banister enough to peer toward the kitchen door. She paused for a moment and listened as the rattling continued before the water shut off and _drip, drip, drip,_ the kitchen door swung open exposing the Doctor, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and soapy water running down his arms. He grinned at her and shook his fringe out of his eyes.

“What on Earth are you wearing” She giggled, eyeing the green toile fabric tied about his waist.

“It’s an apron.” He said looking down at himself and grinning proudly up at her. “What do you think? Cool, eh?”

River eyed the garment, the soft ruffled edges, the green floral pattern. The proportions were all wrong. The bit that tied at the waist sat far too high leaving the ruffled fabric that stretched up over his chest gaping toward the center, making his chest look broader but his torso shorter. She pressed her lips into a thin line, fighting against another giggle, “I think it does wonders for your décolletage, dear.” She offered, and smiled when he flushed a bit, tugging the fabric up over his chest and smoothing it out.

“Well, you know,” he said giving up after a while, “not sure I fill it out quite as well as you.”

“Well I should hope not.” She winked at him and watched as a big soapy glob rolled down his forearm and dripped onto his shoe. “Sweetie, let me. You’re getting water all over the floor.” She turned trotting down the last few steps.

“No, no, no, I’ll do it.” He called, wiping his hands on the ruffled edge of the apron “You just go and have a sit down, won’t take me long.”

“But what kind of hostess would I be if I let you do all of the work,” she continued, walking over to him and wrapping arms around his waist, sighing as the warmth of his body seeped into hers. This was as close as she’d managed to get to him all night. It was well worth the wait.

“Long day,” he said, dropping a kiss to her lips, “you deserve a sit down.”

“And what about you?” She asked, tightening her hold on him. She felt his arms wrap around her, felt the dampness that still clung to his fingers seep through her robe.

“Longer day,” he mumbled, kissing her again, “I deserve to dote on you.”

“Well, when you put it like _that…_.” She leaned in for another kiss, this time longer and deeper. She could feel his mouth open under hers and taste the sweet remnants of the pie that still clung to his lips. She pulled back, eyes closed and licking her lips with a soft hum. She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Don’t break my dishes.”

He scoffed at that, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, “I’m not going to—“

“Don’t break my dishes.”

He returned to the kitchen as the soft clanking resumed. It was soothing, really, if River was honest with herself, having noise in the house, another person moving quietly in the background. She stretched herself along the nearby settee, pulling a throw pillow into her lap and closing her eyes.

Her head throbbed. Her temples pulsed and her sinuses ached with suppressed emotion. Never had she imagined a scenario like this, faced with an Amy and Rory distraught and asking for answers that she couldn’t give them. To be honest, and a little selfish, it was nice to know that it hadn’t been easy for them. Lord knows it wasn’t easy for her. In those first days after her parents had left, River had struggled with all the emotions Amy and Rory were afraid of inflicting on her, abandonment, guilt, fear. It had been an emotional rollercoaster quelled only by the Doctor’s continued visits. Looking back, she wasn’t even sure if it was the same Doctor, and she hadn’t thought to ask. What she did know is that he was like clockwork. Showed at the same time every day, never a minute late, always with a little something in tow: flowers, candy, a new book. “Just popped in to make sure they’re treating you right,” he’d call, sticking his head in through a crack door before actually entering. She’d roll her eyes, “You mean like a class one felon?” “Like a queen,” he’d respond laying his treasure on the bedside table. River, who’d never been used to receiving much of anything and didn’t quite know what to do, always ignored his gifts until after he left, when she examined them thoroughly in private, rolling the word _queen_ over and over in her mouth, tasting all the syllables before deciding if such a word could ever be used to describe her.

The kitchen door swung open, and River rolled her head in its direction in time to see the Doctor backing out, tea tray in hand. “Thought you could use a cuppa,” and she hummed her approval. She watched him as he sat the tray on the coffee table, and curled her feet up in front of her so he had enough room to sit down.

“I was just thinking of the last time you visited me at the Sisters.”

The Doctor snorted, adding cream and lemon to a waiting mug. She marveled at the lines of his hands, the unexpected grace of his long fingers as they grazed the china. Her gloriously uncoordinated Doctor always managed confidence of movement at the most mundane of tasks, when pouring tea, when tying his bow tie, when running his hands over her skin.

 “That didn’t go well,” he broke her thoughts, handing her a mug

“Really? What gave it away?” She accepted the cup gratefully and watched as he retreated for his own.

“Well, the vase that you hurled at my head for one.” He settled back into the settee with his own cup and she stretched her feet over his lap.

“I would have hit you too if you hadn’t been so quick,” She giggled at him from over the rim of her mug as she sipped tentatively at the hot drink. It was true though; she’d grown used to his visits, used him as a security blanket, and had not taken it well when he told her that he wouldn’t be returning.  She had yelled at him, and cried, begged him to take her with him and at the end of it all he just shook his head and promised that she would understand one day. She cursed his name for days. He’s abandonment had hurt the worst. She’d had given everything for him, her lives, her purpose, the very reason she was created, and reared and he took it in stride.

It wasn’t until three days later when a small blue box arrived containing identification papers, money, and the coordinates to a small house in Leadworth with a bright blue door, that River began to understand what the Doctor was trying to give her. She might not have forgiven him right away, but it was a start.

It was another four years before she chose to use the coordinates.

A gentle hand dropped to her feet, breaking River from her thoughts. Long fingers nimbly massaged at her tired arches. God bless his hands. River took another sip of tea, “They seem to be doing remarkably well, all things considering.”

“Because of you.” River watched his jaw twitch in profile. For all the light hearted rambling and clumsy antics, he was putting on just as much a show for her parents as her own jovial storytelling and patient smiles. “You’re healing them River. You’re healing us all.”

“Only seems fair. After all, you three healed me.”

He let out a deep breath, sagging further down into the settee than River ever thought possible. He leaned his head back and turned it so he could watch her. “Did we?” He asked doubtfully, fingers, pressing into the soles of her feet.

River smiled back at him, not shying away from his scrutinizing gaze. She took another sip of tea, drawing the warm liquid in through her lips and enjoying the different flavors. “How old are you, Doctor?”

“What do you mean?” He mumbled, sitting up, his tea suddenly becoming very interesting.

“I mean that you’re much older than you’re pretending to be. You’re older than them… older, even, than me, I think.”

“What makes you think that?”

River gave him an adoring smile— it was cute, really, that he thought he could fool her—and flexed her toes across his stomach. “Doctor, I know you. I know all your faces, and I know their eras.” She paused and waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t, she sighed, rolling her eyes and leaning forward to set her tea on the coffee table. “The tweed’s too old. It’s rubbed and worn at the elbow and the seam is pulling apart slightly at the shoulders. The TARDIS would never have let it fall into such a state had you been wearing it regularly. There’s a scar over your left ear that you got when I went on that dig in Belltraxi and you tried to trim your hair yourself. And…” she grinned,” you’re wearing the bow tie I gave you for your 1286 birthday.” She watched as he swallowed, hand reaching up to fondle the little garment. Really, the man wasn’t even trying.  “Doctor, I understand why you may not want my parent’s to know that you swapped yourself with an older version, but I’m not them.”

It was a long time before the Doctor spoke, all the while River sat attentively, feet curled beneath her, waiting. When he finally did break the silence, his voice was low and slow. “Back then, I couldn’t… I wasn’t in a position to help them. To give them what they needed.”

“I remember…”

“I didn’t have any more answers and just as many questions.”

“So you ran.” His eyes cut to her sharply at the accusation, but then softened. It was the truth after all.

“I ran,” he nodded, “to you. I left them at the hospital with the intent of returning when I could give them more answers.”

“But you still can’t give them answers.”

“I can give them you.” He looked directly at her then, reaching out to run a finger along the edge of her jaw as though it were the first time he’d ever touched her and marveling that she didn’t somehow shatter under the pressure. She turned her head into his touch. “It was harder, I think, leaving you the second time.”

River smiled, “Of course it was, my love. You love me now.”

“I loved you then.”

“Yes, but you know me better.” She shrugged, “You love me more.” It was a simple omission of fact, no question, no doubt, only confidence and it seemed so obvious that he’d been the one to give her that, the peace to know that she was loved, completely and unequivocally. The warm contentment swelled through her chest, fluttering at her heart. She wouldn’t trade a million heartaches for a single moment like this. Yet, hundreds of years later and the man sitting across from her still doubted himself.

The thought surged through River, jarring her into action. She curled her feet into the cushion beneath her and pushed herself forward until she came to rest against his side, knees pressed against his ribs, and gently took the tea cup from his hands.

“Doctor, I’ve told you a thousand times, and I’ll tell you a thousand more until you _believe_ me.” She sat the cup on the side table, and laid her palm over his heart, his head lulling back against the settee in order to see her eyes better. “You were perfect. Every decision you made, everything you did. It was all perfect.” She propped her elbow next to his head and rested her cheek against her fist. “I wouldn’t get any of this, you know, had you chosen a different course. My house, my job, my _life_ , every wonderful thing that has happened to me since Berlin happened because of you.”  She could feel the faint tug of his fingers through her hair.

“No, River,” he whispered gruffly, “this is yours. You’ve done this. All on your own. You didn’t need us. You never needed us.”

River couldn’t help but laugh. One day he would come to realize she wasn’t nearly as strong as he thought, but today wasn’t that day. She dropped her head to his shoulders, still chuckling as she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. Her breath warmed the skin on his neck and puffed back into her face, and his fingers continued to caress her hair.  He smelled of well-worn books and bonded leather and it blended perfectly with the cologne she’d bought him that time they visited the Pleinar galaxy.

“Perfect,” she mumbled against his skin, pressing her lips to his neck. She sat up then, resuming her position from earlier, head bent over his, a few curls falling over her shoulder to tickle his cheek. This time when he smiled up at her it spread all the way to his eyes where it danced merrily. River dropped a quick kiss to his mouth.

“I do know of other ways of making you forget all of your cares, you know.” She said, kissing her ways along his jaw before planting a lingering kiss to his ear, nudging at him with her nose. She pulled back, a lazy smile growing across her face, “your place or mine?”

Oh, now that was a dilemma, and she watched as he weighed the pros and cons of each. He loved her bed, she knew. It was piled with soft sheets and fluffy pillows and it “just smells like you, all over, River!” When she’d suggested that the TARDIS make him a replica he’d just shook his head resolutely. “What’s the point in having a River bed every night if you don’t have a River to go inside?” On the other hand, despite the majesty that was River’s bed, her parents were just two doors down.

The Doctor groaned in frustration, unable to make a decision which only served to make River a bit impatient. She bent her head back down to him and the moment he felt her wet tongue flick across the shell of his hear he was scrambling off the course, clutching her hands and pulling her toward the back door.

River was laughing so hard she could barely walk.

XXXX

Upstairs in River’s study turned guestroom Amy sat in the middle of the sofa bed and chewed her nails down to numbs. She could hear the pipes in the wall behind her hiss with movement as Rory ran the tap in the loo. Guessing by how long the water had been on, he was probably brushing his teeth. _Because River had had a toothbrush for him._ She’d had a toothbrush for both of them… and pyjamas and sheets and pillows all of which she’d pulled from the cupboard. Amy had stood dumbly in the doorway, watching as River pulled the cushions from the sofa, filling what otherwise would have been an uncomfortable silence by chattering about the impracticalities of having a guestroom when almost no one ever spent the night. Almost. She’d pushed her desk so that it ran flush under the window on the opposite wall. And when River threw Amy the other end of the flat sheet, motioning for her to help make the bed, Amy got the impression that this was a well perfected dance they’d performed a thousand times. Only they hadn’t, not for Amy at any rate.

Amy sighed, her teeth snapping through the nail on her forefinger, and looked around. River’s study didn’t really seem to fit with the rest of the house. While the den and kitchen were decorated in straight lines, bright neutrals, and accented with glass and wood, contemporary 51st century décor she assumed, the little study was so much more traditional, like something from Amy’s childhood. It had an old and pockmarked hardwood floor, two solid walls of mahogany bookshelves, and an old writing desk that had been bumped and bruised. The sofa bed was plush, but lumpy in all the right places from years of wear and the only light source, an old pull light sitting on the corner of the desk, cast the room in a golden hue.  Shelves were lined with books and photos and trinkets that River had collected from all over the galaxy and when she had run out of room, she had piled books on the floor, under the desk, in the corner, at the base of the shelves, and at the end of the sofa. The clutter gave the room added warmth.

Amy grabbed the book closest to her; a white and red hardcover entitled _Anglo Saxon Deviant Burial Customs,_ and wriggled her nose. Not exactly bedtime material. Tossing it aside, Amy unfurled herself from the center of the bed, gravitating to the bookshelves. Her head tilted as she examined their contents, fingers tracing the rise and fall of the objects that lines the shelves, careful not to move any of them. Suddenly she stopped, fingers paused at the edge of a picture frame, brow knitting as she examined the familiar image.

It was a photo of herself, smiling—laughing even—at the camera. There, curled in her arms, was a baby Melody, also grinning. Amy lifted the picture off the shelf, so that she could examine it better, the soft curves of her face, her bright smile, the way her hair blew in front of her eyes, and of course, Melody- the tiny face that haunted her dreams. The little fingers she couldn’t seem to forget. She wondered when she’d had the opportunity to take such a happy picture with her daughter.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Rory’s voice called from the doorway and she turned to find him leaning against the frame, watching her once more.

“I’ve seen this before, at Greystark.” She lifted the picture toward him, as he straightened and stepped into the room, circling around the edge of the bed, and taking the photograph from her. “It was in her room, sitting on her dresser, but I don’t remember taking it.”

Rory gazed at the photo as if momentarily stunned by the scene, his wife and daughter as they should be. Happy. Then, slowly, he tilted the picture so that it was horizontal to the floor, his eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to the lamplight. “I’m not sure you did.”

“What?”

“There’s a seam. It’s slight, barely visible, but it’s there.” He leaned in to her and tilted the frame so that Amy could see, tracing the faint line with his pinky. “The picture’s been pasted together.” Amy took it from him, cradling it in her hands. The well-worn and loved photo that had been pasted together by a little girl half a world away because she’d had no picture of herself with her mother.

“Will there ever come a time when we’re not saying goodbye?”

“Apparently. Amy, she had a toothbrush for me, and not a new one she’d just bought, an actual proper toothbrush.” Amy’s lips pulled to a taunt smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She knew it didn’t, and she was too tired to care. Rory took the picture from her and leaned around to set it back on the shelf. She leaned into him, unconsciously seeking out his touch as she watched his hand move to another photo.

It was a picture of the three of them standing, it appeared, in their kitchen in Leadworth. Amy inclined her head, resting it on Rory’s shoulder as she looked at it. It was almost a candid shot, as if they were standing in the kitchen having a chat and turned to the camera only at the last minute, as if the photographer called to them while snapping the photo. They turned and smiled, Amy pressed against River’s back, her chin curling over River’s shoulder, ginger strands mixing with blonde curls. Rory with arms wrapped around both his girls, his smile a barely contained pride, and there sandwiched between her parents, was a laughing River.

On the next shelf, was another picture. This one of a pyjama clad Rory and River, sitting amid a heap of wrapping paper, both fascinated by a giant leather bound book River cradled in her lap, Rory reaching over her shoulder to point to something only they could see. The colorful glint of Christmas lights gleamed in the background. Another photo showed the three of them sitting outside under the trees, half-filled beer steins and giant pretzels littering the table in front of them. There was the Doctor, River, and Amy on top of Mount Peruvian. Rory, River, and the Doctor at the 1857 World’s Fair. Each picture told another story, offered another memory, and gave away spoilers. Amy and Rory devoured them all, tucking them away in their hearts and breaking the silence only to eagerly point out tiny, miniscule details to one another.

“Look at how her smile tilts.”

“It looks just like yours.”

“You have the same crinkle around the eyes.”

“She has pretty hands, doesn’t she?”

Finally, they came to the last photo, sitting at the place of distinction on a book at the corner of River’s desk. This picture, unlike the others where the Pond family took prominence, was only of River and the Doctor. They were unaware of the camera, watching instead, the black sky in front of them, pregnant with giant orbs of red, blue, and green that sagged heavy in the air, planets Amy assumed they were, lined up almost perfectly so that the colors blended together and streaked through the night sky. No doubt it was one of those once in a million year astronomical anomalies that they both loved so much.  River, pressed into the Doctor’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist and her head bent to his shoulder, stray curls spilling across his jacket as she gazed at the vista before them. Amy could almost see the content sigh with which River must have leaned into him. The Doctor, however, seemed less absorbed by the sight before him than the sight beside him. He stood, head angled to watch River, a gratified smile tugging at his lips.

“Look at that.” Amy whispered as though afraid to break such a reverent moment between the photographed couple. She lifted the picture from where it sat to examine it more closely in the lamp light. Rory leaned over, pressing his cheek gently against the side of her head.

“The Doctor and her Doctor,” He murmured and Amy could almost hear his smile.  He moved, then, glancing at the shelves over his shoulder, and her skin prickled in absence of his cheek. “I wonder,” he started, calling her attention and she turned to follow his gaze over _all those pictures._ “I wonder if we’re thinking of this all wrong. Maybe we’re not running out of time. Maybe we’re running into it.” His words settled into her chest warm and smooth, slowly spreading, stroking at the constant swell of panic she’d lived with for the past six months and calming the edges.

Just then the back door beneath them slammed shut and Amy laying the picture aside, leaned over the top of the desk in order to see out the window. The Doctor was the first into view, bounding off the porch with River in tow, crashing into his back when he stopped short, turned to her and bent to whisper something in her ear. River threw her head back and laughed a crisp clean sound that cut through the stillness of the night air. She reached for him, but he danced around her, light on his toes and just outside arm’s reach. Finally giving up, River turned and stumbled toward the TARDIS, her laughter still audible. The Doctor followed her then, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a twirl. He set her down just outside the little blue door. She turned to face him, and they considered each other in the Earthlight as their laughter died away. River, placing both hands on the Doctor’s chest to steady herself, raised up to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his forehead. Then, she curled her hand around his and slipped into the TARDIS.

It had been six months. Six months of waiting. Six months of questioning. Six months of hoping. And in those six months, though she railed and screamed, Amy Pond never cried. Not once did she allow a tear to fall. There was no use, it wouldn’t help. But now the waiting was over. The questions had been answered and the hope was shattered. Nothing had ended the way it should have and yet everything was as it was supposed to be.

As the first tear spilled over her lashes, Amy turned, pressing her face into the familiar softness of her husband’s shirt. “She looks happy.”

“Yea, she does,” he replied and threaded his fingers into her hair.

XXXX

Fin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I love to hear from my readers so if you've been here (and enjoyed the story) let me know! Also, constructive criticism is very much appreciated.


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